


Four’s a... Lot

by Chordae



Series: The Mandalorian and His Child Entourage [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Child Acquisition, Poor Din, adopting kids that try to kill you part 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chordae/pseuds/Chordae
Summary: A little girl attempts to shank Din an alleyway, so of course he adopts her.
Series: The Mandalorian and His Child Entourage [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592737
Comments: 20
Kudos: 108





	Four’s a... Lot

**Author's Note:**

> i have been locked in my house for the past thirteen days and I am becoming erratic so what better to do than upload to a series I haven’t updated in months/???
> 
> in completely unrelated news I’ve been aggressively watching Star Trek and even attempted to write a fanfic ahaha ha gave up on it so, naturally, STaR wAR
> 
> haha sorry I suck at dialogue 

Two moons hang low in the bronze sky, obscured by charcoal clouds. It rains in a downpour, which is more comparable to a torrent or a raging waterfall rather than a simple rainy night. The wind howls through the crevices between high-rise buildings, joining in an eerie cacophony of noise with the thunder that calls out in the distance. Hairs stand on end as the air brims with electricity. The streets are empty. It’s as if all life has been scared off by the far-off crack of the lightning and the roar of the thunder.

Beskar shines and glimmers beneath flashing neon lights and rainfall, the Mandalorian hidden beneath his helmet just as sodden and dreary as the world around him. 

With an air of distaste, Din adjusts his chest-plate, soaked to the bone as the cold begins to affect him. The pay for his last bounty sits heavy in his pocket, its weight a grim reminder of what had to be done in order to obtain it. He trudges through an alleyway, obscured in darkness and not at all welcoming. 

His boots are heavy against the pavement, the water risen to the point that there’s no use in ignoring puddles. With another uncomfortable adjustment to his armor, he continues on his way to the inn where Tahns and the kid _better_ be asleep.

He’s barely paying attention when someone runs straight into him, though his attention’s easily caught at the familiar ‘shik’ of a blade on his armor. It’s a telling sign that someone had just attempted to... shank him?   
  
_Him_. A _**Mandalorian**._

In the pitch-black of the alleyway stands a figure, almost unnoticeable save for the wavering light at the mouth of the alleyway. They’re thin, fragile, and shivering- whether from the cold or from the implications of what they’d just done (or, well, attempted to do). The person, a child Din realizes, draws a ragged breath and faintly curses beneath their breath, murmuring expletives towards their assumed failure of a blade.

It’s a lean-limbed, bare-bones child, tangled hair and face gaunt. She- because it’s a little girl, there’s no mistaking it- stares at Din with wide eyes, the realization that she’d been caught apparent in her expression. She wears something that looks like and about as comfortable as a rucksack, fraying hems and uneven sleeve lengths on a dirtied, coarse tunic. Her pants, more shorts than anything, cut off a bit above her knees, a harsh and jagged cutoff. She’s completely barefoot and soaked to the bone. It’s a wonder she isn’t freezing to death.

She’s easily identifiable as human, all rounded ears and wide, wild eyes. 

Din, although he’s technically the caretaker of two children, does  _ not  _ know how to approach a child, much less one who had attempted to rob and/or kill him mere seconds ago.

He opens his mouth to say something-  _ hopefully _ something along the lines of ‘Are you okay?’ or ‘Do you need help?’ or ‘Pardon?’. Instead, he says (to his own chagrin):

“Your hand-to-hand needs some work.” He hears himself say, for whatever reason. The girl blinks at him, for she’s as caught off guard as Din is by the statement. Din accepts that he’s already dug himself a hole and there’s not much else he can do besides  _ keep digging _ . “Anyone else, you’d have a corpse at your feet right now.”

The kid draws the knife closer to her as Din takes an apprehensive step forward. She can’t be, what, more than six? She’s much too small and frail no matter what age she may be. 

“Uhm.” She says, frantically searching the alleyway for any watching eyes. “I, uh, wasn’t trying to kills you-“ Din fixes her with a look. She raises her hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I swears!” And then, murmurs: “I was just gon’a take all your credits, no bigs.”

Din sighs, because if he thinks this is going where he thinks it’s going, he might as well interrogate the kid.

“Do you not have any parents?” Which is an unnecessary query, but there’s some questions he needs a definite answer to. As expected, the girl nods with a shaky jerk of her head and a faint grimace. 

Small-talk is not Din’s forte- communication outside of work is a difficult subject in and of itself. He can at least try, though, he supposes.

“I’m Din.” He introduces himself. At a loss as to what else he can do, he offers a weak wave.

The girl shifts her weight from one foot to another, then adjusts her posture, arms tucked neatly behind her back. The blade of the knife juts out slightly, glinting dangerously in the light. She remains cautious, but depicts respect simultaneously. No doubt something she’s had to learn- sometimes the slightest hash of respect could get a kid anywhere.

“Nea.” She offers. “I was tryna’ get your credits, and I’m… sorry.” She shrugs. “You’s an adult and all- probl’y need ‘em more than I do.” Her voice is a faint lilt, the local accent strong in her tone.

Nea gives Din a scrutinizing look and continues. 

“You’s can, maybe, not tell the Peecee? I’d  _ really _ appreciate it- and I promise I won’t tries it again.” She stares at Din for a short moment, then rests her free hand on her hip. “I’ve already says sorry, n’all. I’ll says it again if you want.” Din, unsure what to say, simply stays quiet.

“Alright, alright. I’m  _ sorry.”  _ Nea stresses, shoulders back into a slouched slope as she fiddles with her knife. “Now, can I go-“

“Would you-“ How’s he supposed to phrase this? Pandering might not be the best, so maybe saying something straight out would help? “There’s an inn nearby if you’ll let me buy you food.” He says, because he might as well get that out there.

Nea squints at him for a few seconds too long. She gives him an unreadable expression, then tucks her knife into her waistband. She shrugs and fails to stifle her grin, as if Din’s done something unexpected but not unwelcome. Trying to seem nonchalant, she replies.

“A’ight.”

**Author's Note:**

> this SHOULD have 3 chapters overall if my planning is on point 👌  
> uh, thanks for reading my trash fic I love you <3  
> my writing has been top-tier shitty these past few weeks and this is a futile attempt at me trying to dig myself out of a hole ahahaha :(  
> I’ll probably fix this up later, I just want to feel productive so I apologize for throwing this at you


End file.
